


Captain's Day

by hereforthephilindafics



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Couch Sex, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthephilindafics/pseuds/hereforthephilindafics
Summary: Sometimes he is surprised that an enemy ship hasn’t managed to sneak up on them and blow them to pieces while he is deeply lost in thoughts of her soft hair cascading down her shoulders or the way she runs her fingers through it to push it back.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard
Kudos: 32





	Captain's Day

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea where this fic was going when I started writing it but I do like how it ends ^_^

His day starts earlier than he will admit to anyone. Picard likes to think he is still a young cadet, but every time he wakes up before his alarm is a reminder that he is getting old. He only lets that thought linger for a moment, in that state between slumber and consciousness where things are slow and blurry and it does not take much to convince oneself to turn on the other side and go back to sleep.

Picard never lets himself do that.

He doesn’t consider himself a morning person, and that term has even less meaning in Space. They all like to think they keep with a Terran sleep schedule but Picard has spent many of the ship’s nights reading chapter after chapter, going to sleep right as his Alpha shift is supposed to start, and somehow still made it through an entire day without falling asleep in his chair. Sometimes he wonders if he should talk to Beverly about it.

Picard has always liked breakfast, however. He keeps it simple and quiet, a way to regroup before stepping onto the Bridge and dealing with whatever Space might decide to hurl at them. He never really _enjoyed_ having breakfast until Beverly started joining him. Her presence always lightens his mood, even when she doesn’t know he is in one of his moods. Just watching her nibble at her croissant with her legs drawn up on the chair always put a smile on his face.

They only started their tradition after she came back from Starfleet Medical. That first year was too raw, both of them too awkward and nervous. Picard needed to figure out if his feelings had faded, or if he could control them before he let her in too far. Although Beverly definitely kicked a few doors down to get to him when he shut her out.

He is ashamed to admit he doesn’t always keep his emotions about her in check. There are many mornings when he wakes up hard and throbbing. He groans, rolling his eyes at the inconvenient bulge between his legs. At first, he thought ignoring it would do the trick, but he learned quickly that was not the best strategy. When he is in that state, even the smallest thought about Beverly makes everything worse. Picard hates himself every time he needs to take his cock in his hand and stroke himself to orgasm, but it does not do for a captain to be distracted while on duty.

That is what he tells himself, because his thoughts wander to Beverly many times during the day. He really feels disgusting, but most of the time his thoughts are not sexual. Picard finds himself missing her smile, or the teasing smirk he has come to learn means she is holding back a smart reply that will get him even more riled up. He misses her when she goes away on long help and rescue missions and worries about her when she joins the away team. Sometimes he is surprised that an enemy ship hasn’t managed to sneak up on them and blow them to pieces while he is deeply lost in thoughts of her soft hair cascading down her shoulders or the way she runs her fingers through it to push it back.

Usually, their paths cross many times during his day. Before Beverly came on board, Picard liked to remain on the Bridge or in his Ready Room, but her presence on the ship is like a magnet. Sometimes he will say he just needs to stretch his legs and go for a walk. Riker never says anything, but Picard recognizes that wide grin of his. His legs always take him to sickbay, somehow. Beverly has learned to ignore his presence most of the time. When she knows there is nothing wrong with him and no emergency in her sickbay, Picard is allowed to hover while she works. It’s like they are in orbit; she is his planet and he is her moon, following each-other but always at a safe distance.

He likes to think it’s the safe distance that doesn’t let them crash and burn from the start. Somewhere along the way they begin having dinner together once or twice a week. Picard doesn’t realize how crucial to his routine it becomes, until there is an emergency caused by a warp coil failure and he has to cancel at the last moment. Of course, Beverly understands, but her face falls just for a moment when he tells her in the hallway, when they run into each-other on his way to Engineering. He makes sure their next dinner lasts twice as long and no one bothers him for any reason.

There are days, however, where he doesn’t get to see her at all. Picard steers clear of Deanna when that happens. He knows his counselor doesn’t pry, and she understands privacy, but sometimes he is worried he cannot keep his thoughts proper. Beverly on top of him, riding them both to orgasm, flashes through his mind, a leftover of the dreams from the night before. They always seem to occur when he doesn’t spend enough time with her. He tries not to think about her in that way but has yet to learn how to control his dreams.

Beverly’s recreational activities are usually very relaxing. He follows her like a puppy when she goes to practice a scene from the next play she is putting on or learn a new dance routine. He plants himself on the floor or a chair with a cup of tea and just watches her until she is done. Picard wonders if it’s too clingy but she tells him she enjoys his company.

He tries to teach her how to ride. Picard never thought Beverly would be afraid of anything, but she is timid on the horse’s back, almost fearful that her feet are off the ground. So, he lets her watch while he rides around the holodeck.

He realizes she likes spending time with him just as much as he enjoys sharing his time with her. Beverly comes to his quarters when she knows he is buried in paperwork. She curls up on the couch with a cup of tea and reads a book, or a medical journal, while Picard wonders why he is signing shore leave requests until his hand cramps when he could be harvesting grapes while tipsy on homemade wine. Beverly usually gets up after a few hours to stretch. She walks to him, sits on his desk, takes his right hand between hers and massages until his muscles aren’t screaming at him anymore. Picard leans against his chair with a sigh as he feels warmth spread through him.

There are nights now and then when he thinks they will surely take the next step in their relationship. There are moments when her face is so close to him, her breath tickling his cheek. Picard can count the eyelashes framing her sapphire blue eyes when Beverly moves that close.

He loves seeing her reclining on his couch. Now and then he gives in to temptation and joins her. They usually have more than one bottle of wine on those nights. He loves the way her chest flushes the more she drinks. It’s the only way he will allow himself to kiss her; a little tipsy on real wine that Robert has given him. Picard thinks this would never happen if it were replicated wine. But whatever it really is, her lips taste sweet and soft and his tongue seeks out every crevice of her mouth, sucking the flavor of wine mixed with saliva from her tongue. Beverly sighs, moaning into his mouth as she digs her fingernails into the back of his neck, gripping him tightly, like she is afraid he will change his mind.

Picard likes to think he does, that he is strong enough to resist. But the truth, one that he leaves out even from his personal logs, is that he allows her to push him back, straddle his lap while her hands work to undo his uniform pants. Beverly licks her lips as she draws him out. He moans at his shame, it takes so little from her to have him hard and throbbing, ready to join her. She smiles down at him, shifts her hips, stands on her knees as she adjusts her angle. Her right hand caresses his face, cups his cheek as she lowers herself down on him. Picard tries to keep his eyes open, but the pleasure is even more intoxicating than the wine. She looks down at him with steel concentration in her beautiful eyes, like they have done this a million times before. Beverly’s hip grind faster, harder. She throws her head back, giving him the most tantalizing view of her creamy neck while her hair waves down her back, reaching his thighs and tickling him.

That is what does him in, the silky feeling of her hair against his skin. Picard clenches his muscles, grits his teeth, hisses out curses, but there is nothing that can stave off the ending she causes. He throws his head back against the couch, his vision going white for a moment. In the midst of his ecstasy he worries that he left her hanging but Beverly moans, pulling him closer so she can rub her clit against his shaft and Picard smiles. She is never shy about the things she wants.

After, it’s quiet. He raises his head, not wanting the peacefulness of the moment to turn into awkward silence. Beverly’s pupils are still dilated, her eyes unfocused. She rubs her cheek against his palm when he cups her face and smiles. Picard realizes they are both still dressed for the most part. He decides to suggest they move this to the bedroom when she shifts off of him, smoothing down the skirt that covers any evidence of their desire.

Picard sits there, cock hanging out of the opening of his pants, arms to the side, and watches her. Beverly smiles, leaning down to kiss his forehead. She straightens her dress one last time and leaves his room.

She comes back in the morning for coffee and croissants.


End file.
